


Hand Wash Cool, Hang To Dry

by orchidlocked



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Always Cold, Assassin Tailor Rebel Spy, Because You Can't Communicate, Cardassian Culture, Clothing, Especially As A Former Obsidian Order Operative, Except When Your Boo Is Around, M/M, Nesting?, Other, Pining In An Established Relationship, The Mortifying Ordeal of Being Known, There's Probably No Water On Cardassia Prime But Just Let Me Have This One, real tender hours
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-23
Updated: 2019-12-23
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:41:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21913090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orchidlocked/pseuds/orchidlocked
Summary: Garak is doing his best to prove his worth to his Julian, starting by doing all the laundry. The trouble starts one day when his very sensitive olfactory system discovers just how good Julian's clothes smell.“Is that not what this garment is called?” Garak asked.“No,” Julian said, smiling.Garak frowned and held the garment up. “It doesn’t seem it would be called a... cardigan,” he said, the translator a few steps behind him. “Well, I assure you, dear Doctor, I will take nothing but the best care of your garment.” Julian snatched the garment from his hands and put it on. The garment, shirt? was oversized, and hung off Julian's slender frame; the doctor took the hood and flipped it over his head, then stuffed his hands in the oversized pocket on the front. Garak crossed his arms. “Quite interesting.”Julian’s sly smile was visible behind the hood that covered his eyebrows. “It’s called a hoodie. Because of the hood.”
Relationships: Julian Bashir/Elim Garak
Comments: 45
Kudos: 261





	Hand Wash Cool, Hang To Dry

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Skepticamoeba](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skepticamoeba/gifts).



> This is a gift for SkepticAmoeba who is one of my favorite people to talk Garashir head canons with!!!! this was one of her brilliant ideas and I loved writing about it. Happy holidays!!!!!!

Garak woke up in Julian’s bed with a vague memory of the doctor brushing a hand through his hair and planting a kiss on his left neck ridge before quietly slipping out the door. Julian almost always worked the early shift during the middle of the week, and Garak took advantage of the opportunity to gather up Julian’s clothes and all the linens from the bed. He tied up a small pile of dirty clothes in a sheet and then made his way back to his quarters to pick up his own garments for washing.

Doing the laundry had quickly become a vital component of Garak’s alone time, if not his favorite part. He refused to use the Starfleet “sonic washers,” and was thankful to be aboard a former Cardassian station with proper laundry rooms. It had all started when the dryer closest to his quarters had torn his favorite robe to shreds. He had then taken his laundry to the room on Julian’s floor, only to learn that the hot and cold water pipes on the washer were switched; a discovery made when Garak removed a recently made tunic from the washer to find it had shrunken to one-quarter its original size.

Garak used his Cardassian replicator and a few components scrounged up from Quark in order to forge an access card that would let him into the top luxury habitat ring; the larger quarters were where all the Guls and Legates had stayed, along with diplomats and dignitaries. It was true that Garak got a rush every time the doors opened for him, and it felt good being able to sneak into areas that had been off limits to him back when the station was called Terok Nor, but the main draw of the luxury habitat ring was the fancy laundry room. It was easily twice the size of the standard laundry rooms and had two washers and three dryers available for use, a large sink for hand washing, and several laundry lines for hanging clothing, including one that was suspended inside a force field that simulated sun (without the damage) and wind (without the risk of clothing blowing away). There was even a chaise lounge, where Garak would sit and read novels on a PADD while waiting. The best part? Garak had made a slight modification to the dryer vent so the warm air circled back into the room instead of into the ducts. After an hour of doing the laundry, Garak was usually comfortable enough to take off his hoodie. Well, not his hoodie. Julian’s hoodie. One of Julian’s hoodies. Garak sighed as he opened the door to his quarters.

It had gotten a bit out of hand; Garak at least had the dignity not to lie to himself about it. There wasn’t really a need for him to have eight - no, nine - of Julian’s hoodies strewn about on his bed. Four would have been sufficient enough to burrow into on the lonely, cold nights he had to spend here. They weren’t living together ( _yet_ , a tiny voice cried out from the back corners of Garak’s mind), so it didn’t exactly make sense for either of them to give up their quarters in such a closed environment. However, as the months had gone on, Garak had started spending more and more time in Julian’s quarters. At first, he told himself it was because the doctor was more of a minimalist and had fewer possessions; Julian never had to bring work home in the same way Garak did. Julian didn't have expensive scissors and seam rippers and bobbins and thread and replicated patterns that needed to be safely stored or worked on at home in the evenings. Then it was because Julian’s quarters were slightly closer to the transport. When Garak started assembling patterns on his tiny dining room table and clogging the entryway with bolts of fabric, he knew it was hopeless. He’d gotten so accustomed to all things Julian, he could barely stand to be outside of the doctor’s quarters when he wasn’t at work. Garak realized he would need to present Julian with reasons why having him around so often was a good thing, so he’d taken up doing the cleaning and the household task Julian had never done: the laundry. The tailor had made quite the dramatic outburst when he discovered Julian often didn’t even bother to take advantage of the Starfleet uniform swaps, choosing instead just to replicate new clothes as needed.

“That simply won’t do,” Garak huffed one day, fed up that his young Terran boyfriend wasn’t grasping the underlying meaning of his many lengthy lectures about the properties of various fabrics. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to start doing the laundry around here. Properly.” He gathered up a few assorted pieces of clothing around Julian’s quarters and snatched a soft, well worn garment from the back of a chair.

“Be careful with that!” Julian pointed to the navy blue garment in Garak’s hands. The Cardassian held it up to examine it; the garment was of a medium to heavy weight and appeared to be versatile. Garak noted the hood on the back and flopped it over.

“What is this, Doctor? A sentimental garment?”

“If you must know, it is.”

Garak noted the “Starfleet Academy” logo on the back of the garment. “Is this jumper a souvenir from your academy days?” he asked.

Julian’s brows knit in confusion. “Jumper?”

“Is that not what this garment is called?” Garak asked.

“No,” Julian said, smiling.

Garak frowned and held the garment up. “It doesn’t seem it would be called a... cardigan,” he said, the translator a few steps behind him. “Well, I assure you, dear Doctor, I will take nothing but the best care of your garment.” Julian snatched the garment from his hands and put it on. The garment, shirt? was oversized, and hung off Julian's slender frame; the doctor took the hood and flipped it over his head, then stuffed his hands in the oversized pocket on the front. Garak crossed his arms. “Quite interesting.”

Julian’s sly smile was visible behind the hood that covered his eyebrows. “It’s called a hoodie. Because of the hood.” Then he lifted the hoodie over his arms and tossed it into the laundry basket with something he called a 'three pointer.'

Garak had nodded, and grumbled something or other about Terran customs, Cardassian fashion from the pre-warp period, and why couldn't Julian understand the importance of a more formal appearance outside of his Starfleet uniform, and he hadn't really meant any of it, but had grumbled nonetheless. If he grumbled enough, Julian would usually start picking at him, and then bickering with him, and bickering always led to more bickering, which led to full-on flirting, which almost always led to kissing, which led to many other things, and so it turned out that Garak didn't end up doing the laundry until the following morning.

He'd forgotten about the entire thing until he had sorted all the laundry out and found the hoodie at the bottom of the hamper. The hoodie, the garment with sentimental value; he'd set it aside so it could get special treatment. Julian said to be careful with it, so it would be hand-washed. Garak rubbed the fabric between his fingers. Cotton, a heavy Terran fabric. It would have to be dried in the force field that simulated outdoor warmth and wind. He plugged the sink and filled it with 'cool' water, which felt freezing by Cardassian standards, but was still within the temperature range listed for this Terran fabric. Once the water came up to the one-quarter mark of the sink, Garak tossed in the special laundry soap he'd gotten from Vokeen Pali the Great, a Romulan fashion designer who was really starting to go places.

And then, just before he tossed it in the water, Garak decided to smell the hoodie, which was a mistake, because that was when it all started. He wasn't even sure why he did it, but once he did, he couldn't stop. The familiar, beloved scent that was _Julian_ flooded Garak's olfactory system and he was overwhelmed. The scent of Julian, who was always warm. Julian, who kept his quarters warmer when Garak was around. Julian, whose shampoo smelled like cedar, whose shaving cream smelled like benzoin and shea butter, whose deodorant smelled like lemon peel and the plant Garak often referred to as Kardasi mint. Julian, who happily showered to warm his body before coming to bed; Julian, who always seemed to smell faintly of sandalwood when all other fragrances had worn off. Julian, whose scent merged with Garak's when they were covered in sweat, when they were laying next to one another; Julian, who allowed Garak to sleep pressed directly up against his warm skin. Julian, who was warm to Garak, who had warmed to Garak, who warmed Garak; Julian, who was warm, always warm, always a comfort in every way Garak could imagine.

Garak held the hoodie close to his face and sat on the chaise inhaling it for the next two hours. Then, when alone in his cold, cluttered quarters, he put it on. This was another mistake, as the delightfulness of Julian's scent now surrounded him and wafted over him with every move he made. He slowly and deliberately folded Julian's laundry while wearing it, and didn't take the hoodie off until the moment he left his quarters. He knocked on Julian's door with a full hamper of clean laundry, save Julian's navy blue Starfleet hoodie, which was on top, neatly folded as though it had been washed.

Julian opened the door with his eyes closed, lips puckered out. Garak kissed him, mostly as a means to continue to breathe him in. They ate dinner, Julian talked on and on about his day, his patients, a Starfleet meeting, there was dessert, there was kanar for Garak and wine for Julian, and then Garak was gathering up all the dishes, wiping every crumb from the tabletop, sweeping the floor, running a damp cloth over the replicator, drying the countertop...

“Garak.” Julian laid his warm hand atop his forearm, which was already cold from just a few moments of being exposed to the air. “Come on, sit down. You’ve worked enough,” he said, gesturing to the basket of folded laundry next to the sofa.

“As you wish, Doctor.” Garak was more than happy to roll his sleeves down back over his arms and sit down. He knew Julian would join him in a moment; his doctor would sit next to him and share his warmth. Garak watched as Julian stripped out of his uniform and stepped into a pair of loose pajama pants.

Then the doctor picked up the hoodie from the top of the basket and looked it over. “Did you wash this?” Julian asked after he sniffed the underarms of the garment.

Garak hadn't. “I believe I did. Unless, of course, I missed it.”

Julian sniffed the hood, then flipped it over and smelled the back. “Oh, never mind. It smells fine. I've had this one for a while.” He quickly thrust his lanky arms into the hoodie and sat down right next to Garak, so close he was practically sitting atop him. Then he grabbed a blanket and held it up until Garak moved closer; Julian made a show of tucking it in around the Cardassian’s waist and legs. Julian threw his arm around Garak and gave him a kiss on the cheek. A peck, really; the blazing warmth of Julian’s lips there and then gone, a phantom memory. “Are you warm enough?” he asked.

Garak wasn't. “Indeed. Quite roasty. If that's how the phrase goes.”

Julian eyed Garak suspiciously, then reached behind the sofa for one of the wireless heating pads he'd nicked from the infirmary. “Here,” he said, shoving it onto Garak's lap. The doctor then leaned across him to grab an extra blanket from the other side of the sofa. “Lean forward,” Julian said to Garak, as he draped the second blanket overtop his shoulders like a scarf, doing his best to cover up exposed neck ridges. “Computer, increase ambient temperature by 5 degrees Celsius.”

“Chu-lian.” The name of his love tumbled out of Garak's mouth as though it were tea being spilled clumsily on the floor; it sounded the way it would in Kardasi, the emotion in Garak's voice bypassing the universal translator. Julian smiled.

“Can’t have you being cold. It’s not good for you.” He pressed a kiss into Garak’s cheek with his very warm lips, his very warm hand cupping the Cardassian’s chin. Then Julian smiled and threw a hoodie-clad arm around the tailor as they settled in to watch Drag Race All-Stars: Alpha Quadrant. Garak tried to pay attention to the Romulan designer and the Betazoid drag queens and all the associated drama on the screen and failed. All he could focus on was the warmth and the smell of his doctor sitting next to him.

* * *

A few days later, Julian departed to Vulcan for a Federation sponsored medical conference. Garak did his best to remain stoic as he walked Julian down the promenade to his departing shuttle.

“I'll see you in a week,” Julian said as pressed his forehead to Garak's, in front of everyone on the entire bloody station. “You can, you know,” Julian licked his lips and Garak struggled to focus, “you can sleep in my bed. If you want. While I'm gone.” Julian met his eyes, then looked to the floor... shyly?

Garak bit back a twinge of sentiment that began wiggling its way to the front of his mind and went for a bit of needling instead. “I appreciate the offer, dear Doctor, but your bed is hardly as appealing without you in it,” he said quietly. “I'm sure the time will pass by quickly.”

The left side of Julian's mouth crept up into a sly smile. “I certainly hope that it does.” He kissed Garak on the lips, ran a finger down the side of his aural ridge, then turned and walked down the hall to board his shuttle, shooting Garak one last look over his shoulder before he disappeared behind a round door. Garak swallowed down the heavy lump in his throat and quickly walked back to his shop to distract himself by completing a long overdue stack of alternations. It was well past 0230 before he finally made his way back to his quarters. The time did not pass quickly; instead each day plodded along, each minute seeming longer than the last. Without his Doctor around, the only comfort Garak could find on a cold and lonely space station was inside a hoodie.

 _I'll wash the three I have with me and bring them back tomorrow_ , Garak thought as he wore Julian's yellow St. Andrews hoodie up to the laundry room. Somehow, he ended up washing only one of the hoodies, choosing instead to keep wearing the yellow one and drape the black one around his shoulders like a stole while he washed every piece of fabric he could remove from Julian's quarters.

 _This one needs the trim mended before I can return it_ , Garak thought as sat in the shop and examined the hem of Julian's red hoodie, this one a zip-up with a badminton birdie and racket screen printed on the back and over the left breast. He made a mental note to mend it after he'd finished his sewing for the day and decided to continue wearing it while he worked. Just so he wouldn't forget.

 _I can sneak them back in two at a time_ , Garak thought as he tossed and turned in his cold, lonely bed despite being surrounded by the nine hoodies he'd managed to hang onto. He attempted to make a sandwich of warmth for himself by placing one heating pad below his back and one atop his stomach, but failed at that, too.

 _I'll put them in the cabinet Julian never uses, I'll make a big fuss about it and act like I've been storing them there for weeks,_ Garak thought the next night as he laid awake in Julian’s bed, hugging his pillow and drinking in as much of the delicious smells of him as he could, somehow growing sadder and lonelier with every flick of his tongue against his teeth.

Garak woke up in Julian’s bed on the day before the doctor was supposed to return from Vulcan and groaned. He had cranked the temperature controls up but the chill still seeped into his bones. He caught a look at himself in the mirror; hair askew, dark circles present under his eyes, and a dullness spreading across his normally dewy grey skin. There seemed to be no possible way he could make it through another day. How had this come to happen? Elim Garak, the feared interrogator, the infamous assassin, the exiled spy, reduced to a brittle pile of dry, sad, flaky scales, all because he’d gone and fallen in love with the warmest being in the whole universe, who had left him alone to the cold. Temporarily, Garak reminded himself. Temporarily! Julian would be back tomorrow afternoon. Which meant that he could spend the morning in the shop and still have time to hand wash all of Julian’s hoodies. He’d figured out where he was going to hide most of them. Garak attempted to warm himself up with a cup of tea, then got dressed in extra thermal layers and made his way down to the shop. He was halfway through finishing a new jacket for Quark when his comm link buzzed.

“You've reached Garak's Clothiers.”

“Hello Garak, I’m back,” Julian said breathlessly.

It took Garak a moment to respond, as he didn’t want to seem too eager. “My dear Doctor, I didn't think you'd be home from the conference until tomorrow.” Garak's lips began fighting their way into the smallest smile despite the tailor's attempts to tamp it down.

“Yes, as it turned out, the last day was optional all along. A lot of 'team-building' activities and excursions,” Julian said dryly. “I decided to skip it.”

“Well, I would think those would be activities a Starfleet medical officer might wish to engage in, so as to further one's career.”

“Nah,” Julian scoffed, “I'm quite happy where I am. Plus, it was so bloody cold on Vulcan, I think I finally understand how you feel on board Deep Space Nine. I laid in bed every night freezing my arse off. Could barely sleep the whole time I was gone.”

Garak laughed. “Yes, that is a sensation I unfortunately know far too intimately.”

“And it was quite lonely, so I found myself thinking of you,” Julian continued in a quieter voice, the voice he used only when they were alone.

“Is that so, Doctor?”

“Always,” Julian said, and Garak did his best to hide the catch in his breath as Julian continued, “and I realized you were back here all alone and that you were probably cold, and therefore, I should come home as soon as possible and do my best to remedy that.”

Garak felt himself beginning to flush in familiar patterns along his neck, his eyebrows, the tip of his nose. “Your presence has certainly been missed,” he said quietly, turning his back to the open doors of the shop even though no customers were present.

“Do you think you can come home early?” Julian asked, the earnest eagerness in his voice too much for a lonely, exiled, cold Cardassian to resist.

“Oh, I’m sure I can finish up here pretty soon.” Garak began packing up before he even broke the comm, starting first with his pricey scissors and tools, then a few bolts of fabric, lastly the patterns, folded carefully and placed into envelopes. “I’ll see you in your quarters.”

“That you will.” Julian ended the comm, and Garak quickly walked to the doors, locked them, and flipped the sign to 'Closed.'

As he rode the lift up to his quarters, it hit him that he hadn’t gotten Julian’s hoodies back to him. He hadn’t gotten any of Julian’s hoodies back to him, not even one, Garak realized as he stepped out of the lift and walked down the hall. But there was no need to worry. He’d have to do Julian’s laundry soon, since he’d just been away on a trip, he could sneak in a few of them at a time. _Oh, I’m sorry, Doctor, I forgot_ , he’d lie. Yes, he would be fine. Garak opened the doors to his modest quarters to find the narrow hallway suspiciously warm. He pushed his way in, set his work tote down, and looked across the dimly lit room to see a welcome, but anxiety inducing sight.

It was too late. Julian was sitting on his sofa next to a perfectly folded stack of hoodies. A giant stack of hoodies that took up an entire third of the sofa. “Hello, Garak,” Julian said, appearing far too unruffled for Garak's tastes.

“You… you broke into my quarters!” Garak exclaimed. Julian tilted his head and tried to respond, but Garak kept going. “I can’t believe you’d have the audacity to do that, especially when you know my entire _history_ of-”

“Garak.” Julian held up a keycard. “I didn’t break in. You gave this to me. Remember?”

Garak didn’t remember; the only time he’d spent in his quarters in the past few months had been spent folding laundry or dropping off work materials.

“I noticed that some of my garments had gone missing. I had a theory, and it turned out I was right.” Julian had a smug smile on his face.

“Well, Doctor...” Garak paused and flicked his tongue behind his teeth, catching Julian's scent and sucking it in, perhaps with the hope that it might help him find a dignified escape from the situation, “I – noticed that you wear these 'hoodies' quite often. I thought I should learn how to make them, in case you should need or desire more.” He placed his hands behind his back, an old habit from his Obsidian Order days, and attempted to remain as calm as he could.

“Hmm.” Julian pursed his lips and tilted his head. He didn't look convinced. This was not good.

Garak cleared his throat and continued. “And seeing as how you have so many different types of these... hoodies, I wanted to create multiple patterns.”

Julian licked his lips and stood. “I’ve also noticed that you haven't washed any of these, Garak.”

Garak forced out a laugh, a high-pitched peal that was just a bit too joyful. “Would you believe it, Doctor, if I told you I haven’t worked too much with Terran fibers? Especially cotton. I didn't want to shrink any of your _precious_ garments before I was able to make my patterns.”

“You've never ruined a single article of my clothing the entire time you've been doing the laundry.” Julian crossed his arms, and just as Garak was starting to get a bit warm under the collar, he saw a hint of a smile rolling up on Julian’s face.

“I’m so... glad you have noticed the care with which I treat your garments,” Garak said haltingly.

“You haven’t asked about my theory,” Julian said, his smile turning into a satisfied smirk. “Has my absence atrophied your tongue?”

“Hardly, dear Doctor, it’s simply the shock of finding you in my quarters. Had I known you were coming, I certainly would have cleaned,” Garak lied, gesturing to the piles of patterns and bolts of fabric on the table, which had been used as storage since he began spending time with Julian.

“What's the use in cleaning your quarters?” Julian asked as he stood. “You spend almost all your time at my place.” Garak reached for words, but they didn't come. He blinked a few times as Julian continued walking towards him with a near-predatory look on his face. “I don't mind, by the way. Been wanting to talk to you about it for a while.”

Garak's head was spinning from the warmth and the affection. “Talk with me about what?”

“Another conversation for another time,” Julian said as he came closer. “Can't get distracted from my theorizing. I think you nicked all these because you like the way they smell.” Garak held absolutely still; the doctor wrapped his long arms around Garak’s waist and looked at him through those beautiful, thick eyelashes. He gently ran the tip of his finger over the ridge above Garak’s right eye, then continued. “I think you want to wear my hoodies because they smell good. Because they smell like me.”

Garak felt his ridges starting to flush from the sheer embarrassment of being caught in such a vulnerable state. “Doctor, I wasn't _wearing_ them, I-”

“Elim. Find another lie to tell me.”

“I -” Garak was, indeed, reaching for another lie when Julian brushed a hand over his eyes, surprising him enough so he could pull him close and press his warm lips to Garak’s. “Actually, no more lies this evening. Remain silent if you must.” Julian took his hand and led him to the sofa, the ratty one in Garak’s quarters that hadn’t been so much as looked at in months. He sat down and spread his legs wide, gesturing for Garak to sit in between them. Garak sat down and leaned back into Julian's arms, grateful that his dear, dear Doctor knew him well enough to allow him the courtesy of not having to look into Julian's eyes as he began to share exactly how much he knew.

“I know you think I don't know much about Cardassian physiology besides that which you've been _gracious_ enough to share with me,” Julian said into Garak's neck, the vibrations from his voice traveling down his ridges, “but I am a medical doctor serving on a former Cardassian station, and I have done some research into the Cardassian olfactory system.”

“Have you, Doctor?” Garak stuttered and a few errant clicks came out alongside the Federation Standard.

“Oh, I have. It's estimated to be four hundred times stronger than a human's olfactory system.” Julian wrapped his warm arms around Garak and the Cardassian felt his partner's warmth radiating directly against his back as Julian continued talking low and sweet into his ear. “It's also a central component of bonding rituals between family... between mates.” Julian copied a gesture Garak often did to him and rubbed his chin all over Garak’s neck and the sides of his face.

Garak swallowed. Oh, so Julian had figured that out, too. “You always have taken your studies very seriously.”

“So seriously,” Julian said. Garak looked down at the zigzag pattern of dots running across the carpet. He was flushing furiously, he was certain. Julian's chin stilled on Garak's shoulder and squeezed him tighther. “It's important to you. And as you’re my partner, I can’t have you wanting for things. Especially not a simple thing like this,” Julian said, rubbing the hem of Garak's tunic in between his fingers.

“Hardly simple, is it Doctor?” Garak asked quietly.

“Exaclty. Now. If I were trying to scent you in Terran terms, I’d have to rub my armpits all over you-” Garak chuckled despite himself, and Julian patted his thigh before continuing, “and that’s considered more than a bit rude. So this will have to do.”

Julian reached across the sofa and handed Garak a hoodie he’d never seen before, one that was a bright kelly green with broken stripes of white scattered across it, the remnants of text that had long been washed away. “I’ve worn this one for three weeks. I had to, as so many of my other hoodies went mysteriously missing.” Garak took the garment and stared at Julian, unsure of what to say. Julian tipped his head to Garak. “Go on. Put it on.”

Garak pursed his lips and pretended to look annoyed, but slipped the hoodie on over his head as he was told. He pulled the garment on and pushed his face through the hood, and he was once again overwhelmed. The hoodie somehow smelled like all of Julian's scents at once; the intense scent of him when he had been exerting himself, the grassy scent of him when he was freshly clean and ready for an evening out in the holosuite, the simple scent of him when his skin was pressed next to Garak's, and a thousand other olfactory memories woven through every thread of the garment that he was now wearing. A helpless sound escaped his mouth as he clutched Julian closer. “Thank you, Chu-lian,” he gasped, unable to hold back any longer.

Julian rubbed his hands up and down Garak’s arms, and before he knew it, Garak was warm, so very warm. He stared into Julian’s sparkling hazel eyes; they reminded him of the heat waves that rippled across the Cardassian sky at sunset. Surprising even himself, Garak voiced the thought aloud, and suddenly Julian’s mouth was on his, hot and demanding. Then Julian’s hands were reaching under the hoodie he’d insisted Garak put on, pulling up his thermal undershirt, and wandering over his skin, leaving warmth everywhere in their wake. After a brief chill as the hoodie, his tunic, and then his thermal shirt hit the floor, Garak felt nothing but Julian's warmth surrounding him.

* * *

Garak walked through Julian's quarters – well, now _their_ quarters, as of a few weeks ago – picking up a shirt here, a pillowcase there, a single sock hidden behind the door, and tossing each laundry item into a basket large enough to hold a fussy Cardassian's hand washables and a week's worth of uniforms worn by a Starfleet officer prone to sweating.

“You ready?” Julian asked from the doorway. Garak balanced the basket on his hip and strode towards the door. Once in the hallway, Julian took one handle and they walked down to the lift with the basket full of their laundry suspended between them. Garak waited until no one else was in the lift to swipe his makeshift access card, pointedly raising an eyebrow at Julian while he did so.

“Showoff,” Julian said with an overdramatic eyeroll.

“Only for you,” Garak replied. Once they'd arrived at the luxury habitat ring, they padded down the hallway to take care of the laundry. Their laundry.

Now the laundry room was a place they went together; Julian’s arms wrapped around Garak’s waist as he was elbow deep in silvery violet Romulan suds, Garak leaning against Julian’s warm body on the chaise lounge, Julian resting his head on Garak's lap, Garak running his fingers through Julian's hair, Julian reading aloud in his halting Kardasi, Garak correcting Julian's pronunciation, Julian elbowing Garak in the stomach after a particularly snarky response, Garak reaching for Julian to hold him close, Julian reaching for Garak to hold him closer. They were in the middle of a spirited discussion about the proper care procedures for Flaxian satin when Julian gently swatted Garak on the arm and pointed to the door.

“Can you make sure the door is locked?” Julian asked.

“Of course it's locked,” Garak said, getting up to jiggle the handle, “I can't have anyone else trying to come in here when I'm doing the _Doctor's_ laundry. You are rather important, you know. It’s vital that you have your clothing properly cleaned.” Garak went for sarcasm but Julian recognized the undertone of fondness within.

“Oh.” Julian peered at Garak over the top of his PADD until Garak had sauntered back over to the chaise lounge. “I'm not sure I understand the point of _The River of Continuing Devotion_ ,” he said once Garak was seated next to him.

“You don't understand the _point_? It's laid out quite clearly in the very first sentence, Doctor. That is, if you actually read it,” Garak said sharply.

“Every day I look upon the narrow river as it flows towards the capital city,” Julian recited from memory.

“And I follow a single ripple until it slowly fades from my vision,” Garak continued.

“You really think the entire point of the novel is encapsulated in the opening sentence when it continues on for forty-eight – no, forty- _nine_ chapters to describe a fictional collapse of the _entire_ Cardassian government?” Julian's brows were scrunched together, his hands animatedly swinging back and forth.

Garak sighed dramatically. “The narrow river is a well-known metaphor in Cardassian literature; we discussed its importance just a few months after we first met.”

“Oh, I could hardly forget, given the way you went on and on about it that day. I was nearly twenty minutes late for my after lunch appointments!”

“Had you read the original trilogy in the correct order, I wouldn't have _had_ to follow you to the infirmary to make sure you understood the most basic details of the plot!” Garak was so caught up in defending one of his favorite pieces of Cardassian literature that he hadn't noticed Julian gradually moving closer towards him. The doctor crawled over him, gently pushing him backwards, and Garak felt himself sinking into the cushions of the chaise. “Doctor Bashir, do you really think this discussion warrants such a-”

“Shh,” Julian said, touching a warm finger to Garak's cool lips, “I understood the metaphor from the beginning.” He pressed hot kisses onto Garak's cheekbones and temples.

“I am now reminded of another metaphor,” Garak said, bringing his hands down Julian's body until they rested on his narrow hips.

“Oh?” Julian asked, draping his lanky arms over Garak's shoulders.

“An idiom, actually. Or perhaps a proverb? Honor and devotion may decorate the family home, but without warmth, there is no life,” Garak said against Julian's warm, warm lips, held in place by his warm, warm body.

Julian raised his eyebrows and smiled. “I think I may have found my new favorite Cardassian phrase.”

“I didn't know you had a favorite.” Garak's eyes went wide as Julian cupped a hand over his ear and began whispering to him. “Well, _I_ certainly didn't teach you that one!” Garak felt a familiar flush and he saw Julian's hazel eyes flicker across his facial ridges that were certainly now a dark navy blue.

Julian said nothing, just laughed and kissed Garak as he pressed closer and closer, freely sharing all the warmth he had to offer.


End file.
